Steve McGlaughlin

“When Robert was younger he lived somewhere else. When asked, he could never say exactly where, for the simple but painful reason that the nature of his removal from his home had been so sudden and rough and frightening, and had taken such a long time to end, that by the time he found himself in his new home and dared to open his eyes, he had not the slightest idea where he was or where he had come from.”
― Steve B McGlaughlin

“I have a feeling that you are a long way from home, little fella?” the man went on. “I bet the big storm brought you here. Did you come from the mountains, all the way up there?” he said, pointing across the Pond to a mountain range in the distance.”
― Steve B McGlaughlin

“So when the man was only a few steps away, Robert did his best to imitate the yellow bird’s call. When the notes came out, they were not the same sound as the yellow bird’s – after all, they were sung in a frog’s voice. But whatever differences there were between his and the yellow bird’s sound, there was also an obvious likeness that was easy for the man to catch. For, by fate or good fortune, Robert had stumbled across a man who had a deep passion for music. And for a moment, the man froze in surprise at what he had just heard this small frog do.”
― Steve B McGlaughlin

“I think you did it because you were brave.”
“Brave, is a big word, Robert! Too big. A word you would have to live up to if such a word was to find its way around to certain groups.”
“But what you did was brave, Baz.”
“But, Robert, the point is, I don’t remember how I did it. So please do not tell anyone what you saw – they will expect me to do it again. Can you imagine what might happen? And now look at my other leg. It’s shaking even more than the first one. I couldn’t run if I had to. You see what I face? Let’s head back now, in case the fox comes back.”
“It won’t come back, Baz,” said Robert. “I wouldn’t.”
― Steve B McGlaughlin